


Time had passed, but change wasn’t a bad thing

by old_starlit



Series: And we'll figure it out [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, I promise, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_starlit/pseuds/old_starlit
Summary: Maybe she had finally taken off those rose-tinted glasses she wore in the 1700s. Maybe things were different 200 years later. Maybe there was some misunderstanding. Or maybe what they had wasn't really love at all.Or a peek at John Laurens's life, only through Martha Manning's eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel/prequel to my other work, "[We'll Figure it Out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7667827/chapters/17461372)". It's not necessary to read it to understand this fic (but is recommended). Just know that this is a reincarnation AU.

Martha didn’t think there was anything wrong with her at first.

The weird, flashing pictures of herself as...well, someone else. The feeling that there was another part of her, locked away somewhere. The unsettling prickling under her skin, the crawling of her bones, the inches of her body screaming, _Our story isn’t complete!_ She didn’t know what it was.

Her parents did though. That’s when they told her that she was a reincarnate of Martha Manning Laurens, they sat her down, a confused twelve-year old, and talked to her about reincarnation.

It wasn’t until she was twelve when things began to piece together. She began to remember who she was, who her friends were, what her life was like (and how sexist it was back then!) and how young she was when she died.

There were always those little things that bugged her, like the flashbacks that set off or the extensive questioning of who she was (and did anyone remotely know her? No.), but one thing in particularly unsettled her, and she brought it up with her father over a dinner conversation.

“Dad,” she started. “There was a dance at school, remember?” It was one of those cheap middle school dances and she didn’t really care for it except, well, there _was_ a boy.

“I remember,” her father answered. “I’m still wondering why you didn’t go.”

“I asked out my crush,” she blurted out and her mother gave her a sympathetic look, piecing together why she didn’t attend the dance.

“Honey, it’s okay,” her mother said reassuringly. “There are other fish in the sea.”

“No, I’m over it,” Martha said hurriedly. He wasn’t really much of a crush, just someone she saw and sort of liked and in middle school terms, that was practically love, along with holding hands and actually talking to one another. “It’s just that, well, something he said bugged me. He told me that I should be waiting for my husband. What does that mean?”

“Well, honey,” her father said. “They’re not wrong, exactly. Most reincarnates try to find their past lovers. And yours is John Laurens, remember? I believe he goes to your school. You should look for him.”

“John Laurens,” Martha murmured, feeling the name roll of her tongue. “And he’s out there?”

“He’ll always be there for you,” her mother promised. “Always.”

It wasn’t a year later when Martha found him.

* * *

She was in her eighth grade science class on the first day when her teacher called out the name “John Laurens” for attendance. The kid to the right of her raised his hand.

He had curly brown hair and a splattering of freckles and Martha couldn’t help but stare at him and think, _That’s him. He’s the one_.

When the bell rang, she locked eyes with him and she saw his eyes widen, seeing her, _really_ seeing her for the first time. She didn’t know what she expected. Maybe a loving reunion? Maybe for him to tell her he’d been waiting years for her? Maybe she could finally live in the fantasy she had created inside her mind.

Instead his expression grew to something akin to terror and he ducked his head down and ran past her towards the door.

Martha would later say she wasn’t crushed, but really, she was. She spent all the next day in her room, racking her brains as to what was wrong.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to herself. “It doesn’t make _sense_.”

Why did he act that way? They were in love in their past lifetime, it she remembered properly. They were friends who slowly fell in love with each other over time. He accidentally impregnated her but then nobly married her so that she wouldn’t be alone in raising a child. Although they were in love, he wanted to serve in the war and left to go to America. He died tragically before they could meet again, died loving her.

Right?

 _Right_?

She had a horrible, sinking feeling that all of that was wrong.

And then, just as quickly as that spark of doubt flashed through her, she fell into a flashback, quick, sudden and mind blowing.

What she saw didn’t make sense. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Maybe she had finally taken off those rose-tinted glasses she wore in the 1700s. Maybe things were different 200 years later. Maybe there was some misunderstanding. Or maybe what they had wasn't really love at all.

“He didn’t love me,” she whispered, realization settling in. “He didn’t love me.” The more she thought about it, analyzing her thoughts, the angrier she became.

He left her with a _child_ then had the _audacity_ to _leave_ and then never even _visited_? Always there for her, right, she thought bitterly. Talk about some romance this was.

But while she held a grudge towards the past John Laurens, she couldn’t bring herself to hate the student in her class that looked downright terrified to see her.

Whatever the case, she needed to talk to him.

Which was why, of course, at lunch, she dumped her lunchbox on the table and sat down beside him.

John jumped, eyes darting back and forth for an escape, before swallowing and saying weakly, “Hi. Who are you?”

She fixed him with a look. “Martha Manning,” she replied. “But of course you already knew that.”

“I--yeah,” he said. “You remember?”

“I remember,” she confirmed and he winced at her response.

“It’s, um, good to see you again,” John said slowly. “I missed you.”

“Bullshit,” she replied. “Let’s talk about how simply _wonderful_ of a husband you were.”

John sucked in a breath. “I, uh, I guess I deserve that.”

Martha crossed her arms. “Yeah, you do,” she said, wondering distantly in the back of her mind if she was being to o harsh on him. It was hard to be so mad at someone with that much freckles, but what he did to her was pretty horrible.

John sighed, spreading his hands out on the table. “I’m sorry about everything I did to you. I don’t know what else to say. It’s mostly back,” he added, gesturing to his head. “But honestly, I think I was trying to distance myself from you as much as I could. I never meant for any of what happened to happen. It was a shitty way to deal with things, I know, but I never meant to hurt you.”

“You never tried to protect me either,” Martha noted and John nodded.

“I didn’t,” he agreed. “I was pretty terrible, wasn’t I?”

“Well, you were a good friend,” Martha said. “We kind of ruined it with romance.”

John gave a little laugh. “We kind of did.” There was a silence, before he said, “I don’t know if we can ever truly talk about what happened, but maybe we could put that all aside?”

Martha nodded slowly. She felt unsatisfied with that, somehow, maybe thinking that he got away with how he treated her _again_ , but also maybe she was still too forgiving. “Okay,” she agreed, reaching to open her lunchbox. “And I’m not leaving, either, okay? Better get used to me.”

John smiled at her, a true, real smile, that she hadn’t seen in a _very_ long time. “I think I can manage that,” he said.

* * *

Martha didn’t fall in love with John, even though she thought she would’ve. They became best friends, attached at the hip, almost always pictured together (and almost always thought to be a couple).

She became a family friend, practically part of the Laurens family. There were always questions that sprung up, though, mostly thrown at her by Henry Laurens, but she knew that they all were wondering the same thing.

LIke why John had no other friends. Why he was so sweet, yet so quick to anger. Why he was becoming more and more closed off. Why the two hadn’t started dating yet.

She only knew the answer to one.

* * *

She could remember the end of eighth grade, when John ran to her in tears, hugging her tightly and he broke down repeatedly whenever she asked him what was wrong. 

Finally, he said, “My mother is dead.”

“What?” Martha gasped, drawing back, arms still tight around him. Eleanor Laurens was possibly the kindest woman in the world, always coming to her with a warm hug and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. 

“Car accident,” John said between sobs. “She’s gone, Martha. I thought that this time she wouldn’t die but she’s _gone_.”

Martha held him a little tighter.

* * *

“What’s up?” she asked one day, during the summer of tenth grade. The two were lying on the ground, staring up at the clouds, not bothering to point out the shapes in the clouds anymore. They were just a bunch of water molecules anyway, right?

John had been strangely lethargic throughout the day, not his usual bubbly self. He didn’t seem to notice the worried tone in her voice, instead answered, “What do you mean, what’s up? Nothing.”

“I mean,” Martha said. “Are you okay? You seem...off.”

John let out a sigh. “It’s just my dad. I managed to convince him to let be a doctor because I studied law in my past life, but he still wants me to go into politics. And I _don’t_.”

Martha laughed. “I can’t imagine you as some politician,” she admitted. “The guy who draws turtles on all of his notes.” 

“Hey,” John said, though his tone was considerably lighter. “Maybe all politicians draw turtles on their notes. You don’t know.”

“That’s true,” Martha agreed. “But do all of their turtles look run over?”

“Their soft shell turtles!” John said indignantly, sitting up to look down at her. “They’re supposed to look like that!”

“Sure.” Martha rolled her eyes. She sat up as well and turned to face John. “I was actually wondering something.”

“Go for it,” John said.

“So there’s this guy,” she said and John groaned and flopped back on the ground.

“How many crushes do you have?” he asked. “I’m so sick of hearing them.”

“This is the first!” Martha protested. “I’ve never liked anyone until now!”

“Still sick of them,” John said. “I hate talking about drama.”

“It’s not drama,” Martha objected. “It’s just my feelings. If you wanted drama, I could tell you how our two chemistry teachers are hooking up.”

“Wait, _what_?” John asked, bolting back up.

“That’s old news,” Martha said dismissively. “Anyway, the reason why I brought up my crush is because I was wondering if _you_ had any. I could set you up. I know practically all the girls in our grade.”

John looked away, then opened his mouth to say something, closing it again after a moment’s thought. “There’s, uh, there’s nobody,” he said evasively. “I don’t like girls. Currently.”

“Okay,” Martha said easily. “I was just wondering, ‘cause everyone wants to set us up, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” John muttered. “I never hear the end of it from Dad. Always talking about how you’re such a lovely girl and I should ask you out and I’m a disappointment to the family and he _hates_ me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Martha said easily, but John just shrugged. “He just cares about you. And besides,” she added. “We could always get married for tax reasons. Imagine, just the two of us sharing an apartment together in a big city.”

“Which one?” John asked.

“New York City,” Martha replied. “The greatest city in the world. History happens there, you know.”

John laughed. “Like you’ve been there,” he said and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Just you wait,” she said. “I’m getting out of here in college and in the big city. Just you wait.”

“Like anyone would like to go to _New York City_ ,” John scoffed. “I’d rather stay here for the rest of my life. Here I’m welcomed, but there? I’d be a stranger.”

“Suit yourself,” Martha said. She didn’t know that it wouldn’t be her leaving in the end.

* * *

High school quickly became a whirlwind of failing grades, tears, emotions, and stress. While Martha rose through the ranks, getting smiles from teachers, making friends with practically anyone, breaking hearts and mending them, John was spiraling. He became more and more detached with both friends and families. While his grades stayed as A’s and B’s, he earned himself more enemies with both teachers and students, getting into fistfights and arguments.

Martha was the only one who stuck with him. She helped him through with school and his ever-frequent flashbacks. It would terrify her, when he blacked out and came to again, fingernails pressing too tightly into his skin, eyes wide and haunted. It terrified her even more when the haunted look in his eyes didn’t come from the flashbacks.

She didn’t know _where_ it came from.

“I don’t know what to do,” she overheard Henry Laurens mutter to her father one day.

“About John?” William Manning guessed, and she felt her heart stop. _What was wrong with John?_

“Yes,” Henry said and she moved a bit closer to the door to listen. “He’s becoming more and more depressed each day and I don’t know what to do. I thought Martha could help him…”

At the sound of that, she felt guilty. Should she have done something?

“Martha’s unaware of his...mental state,” William said, choosing his words carefully. “Could you get him a therapist?”

“Refuses to go,” Henry replied. “He only talks to Martha”--she was John’s sister--”but even that doesn’t help. His grades are good, but all he does is study and draw and lock himself in his room all day. I don’t know what to do.”

‘It’s a phase,” WIlliam reassured him. “He’ll get over it. Teenagers will be teenagers.”

“I guess that’s true,” Henry admitted. “I just hope he gets his act together in time to go to college. But I’m willing to wait for it to blow over.”

“True,” William said. “Now, did you hear the news…”

Martha took that as her cue to leave, creeping back up into her room. She needed to talk to John soon, and get to the bottom of what was wrong with him.

* * *

Soon, she found out, meant _months_. Due to school (and, okay, Martha’s increase in friends) she and John began to grow farther apart and she just got fed up of his reclusive state and the constant nagging of her friends who thought she had a crush on him that she just didn’t want to see him. But she _did_ miss him, so the Sunday after Thanksgiving break, she approached the Laurens’s house (or, more accurately, mansion) and rapped on the door.

“Martha!” Martha (another one) flung open the door. “Hey, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while. What’s up?”

“Hi, Martha,” Martha cut the younger out of her ramble. “Can I see John?”

“Oh,” She blinked at that, then nodded. “Yeah. Up the stairs, first door to the right. But, uh, you already know where his room is.”

As Martha began to head towards the stair, Martha Laurens stopped her.

“Hey,” she said. “Just be careful with him, okay? Despite what people say, he’s not...okay.”

“Okay,” Martha murmured, heading up the stairs.

The door to his room was closed, a crayon drawing of a turtle still hanging on the door. It was from when he was seven, according to John, and Martha gave a small smile at that. She knocked on his door once, timidly, and heard a faint, “Come in.”

She opened the door slowly and saw John on his bed, a sketchbook out in front of her. A quick glance told him he was doing scenic sketches, calm, peaceful, happy places that didn’t at all seem to reflect what was going on in his mind.

“Martha?” he said, sitting upright. “I--what are you doing here?”

“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” she answered, not liking this new stiffness between them. “I thought I’d pop in, see what was happening.”

“Nothing’s happening,” John said, but his mind looked like it was in a million other places. Nothing important.”

He reached up to place his sketchbook on a nearby shelf, but in doing so, his sleeve fell down and a series of scars was revealed on his wrist.

“John!” Martha gasped, running forward and grasping his hand. “What--what is this? What happened to you.”

“It’s nothing,” John snapped and Martha reeled back because he _never_ snapped at her. “Drop it, Martha.”

‘It’s not nothing,” Martha shot back. “Was it an accident? Who hurt you? I could do report them. Just tell me their name--”

“It was me!” John shouted, yanking his hand back. “It was me.” He slumped his shoulders in defeat, sitting back on the bed. 

“Why?” Martha breathed. She sat next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer to her. After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned into her embrace.

“Why?” John gave a harsh laugh and she hated that laugh, nothing like the usual sunshine and happiness he used to sound like. “Why not? It’s not like this life is any better than my last. I’m probably going to die young again, so what’s the point of trying? And,” He choked and Martha realized with a jolt that he was on the verge of tears. “I thought that this life would be better. That...that I wouldn’t be _like_ this. But I guess not.” He looked down on his hands, staring hard as if that could change how they looked. “I’m still the same. I’m still a sinner.”

“John, you’re not a sinner,” Martha said, confused. “You’re a good person, I know you are.”

“No, you don’t,” John said, and tears were pouring down his face now. “You didn’t know in our last lives and you don’t know now. I--I’m gay,” he said and the words were rushed on, hate, fear, disgust in his voice and he drew himself in, still crying. “It’s wrong, it’s unnatural, it’s disgusting, It’s not right. I tried to change, I want to change, _I wish I could change_. But I can’t.”

Martha was reeling. So this was why John was so uncomfortable in his last life, why he couldn’t look at her after they were married, why they could never have loved each other romantically.

But that didn’t matter, not now, anyway.

Dismissing anything her father said, anything her friends, family, and teachers said, she murmured to John, “There’s nothing wrong with you. LIking guys...that’s _fine_ , it’s natural, there are people like you out there and are _they_ sinners?”

“No,” John whispered.

“So you’re not,” she said. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And I’m here for you, remember?”

John nodded shakily, grasping her hand and squeezing it. And the selfless, caring John Laurens that she knew also promised, “And I’m here for you too.”

* * *

“He asked me out!” John sang, twirling in circles around Martha’s room during their junior year. “He actually asked me out!”

“Who?” Martha asked, grinning. Thanks to the support of social media, his siblings, and, of course, her constant guidance, John appeared to be becoming better, smiling more, talking more, getting into fewer fights. He still wasn’t making as many friends, but Martha had a feeling that it was more because he just didn’t _want_ any friends. There were still rough patches (especially when his turtle died) but he was getting better, and that’s what counted.

“Francis Kinloch,” John answered dreamily. 

“He’s gay?” Martha asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” John said. “Probably the only other one in our school, too. But he’s _amazing_ , I love him.”

“He’s not out, is he?” Martha asked and John shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We’re dating in secret. Not a good idea to leave the closet in this community, right?”

“Right,” Martha agreed. She felt that the South got a bad rep, for being full of racists and bigots when that wasn’t always the case, but in their town? Well, it fit the stereotype perfectly. “I’m glad he makes you happy,” she said sincerely.

“He does,” John said, looking at her with true happiness in her eyes. “I have a feeling we’re going to be together for a long time.”

* * *

“Hey, how are you and Francis doing?” Martha asked one day, while she braided John’s hair. He had started to grow it out, much to his father’s disapproval, but Martha preferred it long, curls more pronounced and springy.

“We broke up months ago,” John said indifferently.

“What?” Martha gasped. “I thought you loved him! That you’d be together forever!”

John twisted his mouth in distaste. “Ew, be with a Republican forever? I’d rather die. That guy has his politics backwards. Give me a passionate activist who’s nonstop maybe.”

“Oh,” Martha said. “Are you okay though?”

“Yeah,” John said. “I was the one who cut it off. I’d rather wait for the right one." 

“You’ll find him,” Martha reassured him.

“Maybe,” he said, but he sounded just a little bit hopeful.

* * *

“I got accepted!” John yelled, kicking open the door to Martha’s room. “I’m getting out of here!”

“You got into the University of South Carolina too?” Martha asked excitedly, bouncing up and down.

“Hell no,” John said with a frown. “I’m going to Columbia.”

Martha’s mouth dropped open. “Columbia University?” she asked dumbly and he nodded. “But--but that’s all the way in New York!”

“Exactly,” John replied. “My dad hated me for it, but fuck my dad, honestly. I did it to get away from him. I’m finally going to one of the most liberal cities in the world, away from this place, these people, my stupid nickname of “Jack”...I can’t wait to leave, Martha.”

“You’ll be so far away,” Martha whispered and John walked forward to hug her. 

“I know,” he said. “But I need this. I really do. You have to understand.”

“I do,” she said. “I trust your decision. But keep in touch, okay?”

“I will,” John reassured her. “It won’t be like our last lifetime. Promise.”

* * *

People did change, it turned out, because John called her the third day of college, giving her barely enough time to say hello before he began to talk.

“Oh my god, Martha,” he said. “I met him again, I love him again, he’s amazing, he’s perfect, he’s _nothing_ like Francis, I’m in too deep, oh god, this is going to end terrible, _what did I get myself into, Martha?_ ”

“Whoa,” Martha said, laughing. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“Um,” John said. “So. I met Alexander Hamilton?”

Mind flitting to her History classes, her mouth dropped open. “Wait. That dude on the ten? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” John said with a laugh. “He’s my roommate.”

“No. Way,” Martha breathed. “How’s he like? A two hundred year old dead white guy?”

“Hey, _I’m_ a two hundred year old dead white guy,” John joked. “But oh my god, Martha, he’s amazing. He came from the Caribbean, Puerto Rican like me, a writer, an activist, _so fucking good-looking_ …”

“Ooh, John, you have a crush?” Martha teased him, turning on her laptop to look up Hamilton’s wiki page.

“Shut up,” John said, but she could tell he was grinning. “It’s just kind of exhilarating. And terrifying. I’m not even _out_ yet, but, wow, I could come out! A lot of my friends are in the LGBT community, or support it.”

“Wait, your friends?” Martha asked, caught off guard, closing her laptop. The thought of that felt...weird. It wasn’t a jealous feeling, it just seemed...different. The way John was talking, the way he spoke to her, the mention of friends...he was already changing at Columbia, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“Yeah, it’s so cool,” John said, unaware of her internal debate. “I met Laf and I knew him from the war. Also Herc who I met once in my past life.”

“How are your flashbacks?” She asked, changing the subject.

There was a silence. “They’re okay. I mean, I’ve gotten used to them by now, you know? They’re annoying, but, so far, none too traumatizing.”

“Well, that’s good,” Martha commented. She herself never had the frequent flashbacks John did, so she couldn’t possibly imagine what he was going through. “I should go,” she said, eyes straying to her roommate as she entered the room. “Everything’s alright? Mentally, physically, emotionally?”

“Everything is fine,” John reassured her. “And what about you?”

“Good,” Martha responded. “Just...miss home already.”

“Yeah,” John said, but his voice was dull and she could tell he didn’t relate. “Well, see you then. Text me often, okay?”

“I should say the same thing for you,” Martha laughed. “You never write, then or now.”

“I’m a busy man,” John said dramatically. “But seriously. I want to keep in touch. I don’t want to--I _can’t_ \--lose you as a friend.”

“You won’t,” Martha assured him. “I’ll be here.” And it was nice to know that he valued her in this life.

They said their farewells, and when he hung up, she drew her laptop back towards her, a thought striking her mind.

Searching “John Laurens” in the search bar, she clicked on his (surprisingly not so small) wikipedia page. Scrolling through it, she looked through the basic stuff--birth, death, early life, time in war and then:

 _Sexuality and Relationship with Alexander Hamilton_.

Her mouth dropped open as she read through it, part of her shocked, part of her wanted to laugh, and part of her upset.

Upset because John seemed to have written as many, if not more, letters to Hamilton, and they seemed to have loved each other, and to see him have an _affair_ with her in their past life, well.

It kind of hurt, okay?

She sighed, closing her laptop. Her roommate, Dolley Payne, glanced over at her.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Turns out my husband had an affair with me,” she muttered. “In our past life. With Alexander Hamilton.”

Dolley gave a low whistle. “Well, that sucks,” she said sympathetically. “But Alexander Hamilton? Isn’t he straight?”

“Apparently not,” she said. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Dolley offered. “My husband and I were completely and utterly in love in our past life, but now he’s falling for Thomas Jefferson.” 

“Yikes,” Martha said. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Dolley said airily. “I mean, I’m over it. Been over it. People change, you know, in reincarnation. Still kind of weird, you know?”

“Yeah,” Martha said. “But, uh, you said you were a reincarnate? What were you like?”

“Well,” Dolley said. “I was married to James Madison…”

“Without the guys,” Martha interrupted her. “I want to know about _you_. Who were _you_?”

Dolley’s eyes sparkled, and Martha could tell this was the first time someone asked about _her_ and only _her_.

“Well,” Dolley said. “I have a lot to tell you.” 

* * *

College was like a godsend to Martha. She felt finally free, among her new, _good_ friends and doing what she wanted to do.

Glancing down at her phone, her eyes widened at the sight of _five_ missed calls from John.

She sucked in a breath, fearing the worst. Darting out of the dorm room where she and her friends were at, she called John immediately.

“John?” she asked urgently. “What's wrong?”

“Hey, Martha,” John said, and she recognized his tone. It was his too-casual, pretending-to-be-okay tone. “So. I came out to my dad.”

“You did?” Martha said in surprise. “Did it go over okay? Please tell me it went over okay.” Even as she said that, she knew it hadn’t. He had promised to visit her in South Carolina over Thanksgiving break but never did. She could only guess that he had left, or even worse, had gotten kicked out of his house.

“What do you think?” John asked dully, lifelessly. “I left. I couldn’t take it. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you, Martha, but I couldn’t take it, I just couldn’t take it.”

“It’s fine,” Martha said. “There’s always Skype. I’m just worried if _you’re_ okay. Is your...mentally, are you….um…”

“I’m fine.” John cut her off before she could find away to articulate her words. “Alex has been helping me through it.”

“Huh,” Martha said. “Alex. Your crush?”

There was an unintellagble squeak at the other line. “You remember that?”

Martha laughed softly. “Yeah, I do. So Alex has your back?”

“Yeah,” John said softly. “He does. I love him for it.” He didn’t seem to realize the very important words that left his mouth.

Martha smiled at that. John had found another person to hold onto and she couldn’t find room in her to feel jealous.

* * *

“Still studying, Martha, Dolley?” Martha looked up to see Sally Hemings drop down next to her on a bench. A year had passed since she had first started college and, sure, it was fun, but also tiring.

Martha smiled wryly. “Unfortunately,” she said, closing her notebook and settling her chin on her hands. She sighed, staring out onto the college grounds, watching as student talked and mingled. Benedict Arnold talking to Peggy Shippen (scandalous!) and Sybil Ludington racing Paul Revere (and winning by a _lot_ ).

“Tired?” Dolley guessed, skimming through her own notes.

“More than tired,” Martha said. Her phone buzzed and she fumbled to take it out, looking down to see a text from John.

“Who’s that?” Sally asked, looking over Martha’s shoulder to read her text.

“It’s John,” Martha responded. “John Laurens.”

“Your husband, right?” Dolley asked. “Past husband,” she corrected herself.

“Let’s see what he wants,” Martha muttered, unlocking her phone. “If it’s about Alexander Hamilton again, I swear…”

“Wonder if he knows Eliza Hamilton,” Dolley murmured. “She was a good friend. Our husbands were enemies, but we were friends.”

“Imagine if women ran the world,” Sally said. “It’d be so much better.”

“Preach,” Martha said, opening up her messages. She blinked at the new text John had sent her.

**John:** _lol just (almost) died_

**Martha:** _stop being so dramatic_

**John: __**_im actually not being dramatic_

**Martha: __**_john dont joke about stuff like that_

“What’s _his_ problem?” Dolley asked, frowning down at her screen. Martha’s two friends were cramped at her sides, leaning down to read the text messages.

Martha shrugged. “I have no idea.”

 **John: __**A _ctually serious_

**John: __**_I was at a pride parade and some guy brought out a gun. I was shot, nothing to life threatening, still at the hospital. Just thought youd want to know_

Martha nearly dropped her phone. “Oh my god,” she whispered, fingers flying across the screen.

**Martha: __**_ok im calling_

She quickly dialed his number, standing up. “Sorry, guys,” she said apologetically at her friends. “I just need to talk to him--alone--you know--just worried--”

“Go, it’s fine,” Sally said, waving a hand. 

Martha smiled at her, before walking away. She liked to walk as she talked on her phone and paced when she was nervous, which led to her walking in zig-zags along the campus.

John picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Martha,” he said, sounding tired.

“You were shot?” Martha asked immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, fine,” John said, sounding too casual for someone who was in the hospital. “Just shaken.”

“You’re okay,” Martha repeated. “Oh, thank goodness. You can’t just _spring_ that on me, John Laurens!”

John laughed. “Sorry,” he said, and he did actually sound sorry. “It was just a lot to process.” A silence. “I was just so scared I’d die. It was a gunshot, like back in 1782, and the flashbacks...god, Martha, I was so scared.” 

“Well, you’re not dead,” Martha said firmly. “And I won’t allow it if you die, okay? I simply won’t allow it.

“Thanks, Martha,” John said warmly. “Always looking out for me, huh?”

“Yeah,” Martha said. “Better than what you did in your last life, huh?”

“I’m still sorry about that,” John said, and his voice was drenched in guilt. “I know what I did is wrong, and I’m still trying to make it up to you.”

Martha smiled. “You are huh? Well, to make it up, I _suppose_ you could help me with my homework.”

There was a silence before she could hear John’s audible gasp and he said, “Martha! You…” He sighed in defeat. “Yeah, okay, I’ll help.”

“Perfect,” Martha said, walking back to where her notes were.

“You know,” John said after a moment’s silence. “I really think I like this life better.”

* * *

John was coming back to South Carolina _today_. It felt too long since she had seen him, her one constant friend. She waited for him impatiently at the airport, checking her watch every five seconds, feet tapping on the ground. Usually it’d be Martha Laurens who would pick him up, but she was staying home with her younger siblings, so it was Martha who’d be taking him back home.

She couldn’t help but be grateful for that. 

Sighing, she glanced down at her phone, trying to take her mind of John, when she looked up and saw him. He was laughing and talking to someone else, but then he looked forward and caught her eye and started to run. 

She met him halfway, hugging him tight. “It’s been too long, Laurens,” she hissed. “And you _never_ call.”

“Sorry,” John said, pulling back and grinning. “A lot things happened.”

“Tell me about it,” Martha muttered, drawing him back in with a crushing hug. She let go, turning to John’s boyfriend--Alexander Hamilton.

“Hey,” she said warmly, holding out her hand. “Martha Manning.”

“Alex Hamilton,” Alex replied, taking her hand and shaking it. Martha yanked him forward until they were eye to eye. 

“If you hurt John, I swear to god I’ll make you regret you were ever reincarnated,” she hissed. She released Alex and he stared at her, a bit shocked.

“You sound like Angelica,” he said. The name made no sense to her, but John nodded in agreement. Alex offered her a smile. “I have no intention of hurting John. I mean, how can you hurt a face like that?” He poked John’s face and John swatted at him. Alex dodged, then darted forward and kissed his cheek.

Martha looked at Alex for a moment. He seemed kind and full of boundless energy. He didn’t seem like someone from a history book, a new person, without the mistakes of his former self. She flashed John a thumbs-up. “He’s Martha-approved.” She drew Alex in for a side-hug. “Welcome to South Carolina.”

As they walked to Martha’s car, John dropped back to talk to Martha.

“It’s kind of scary being back,” he confessed. “

“But you don’t regret it, do you?” Martha asked carefully.

“Not at all,” John replied immediately. “I missed my siblings, my house, even my dad. And I missed you.” He smiled at her. “I don’t have another friend like you. We’ve been together through a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martha said. “And don’t expect me to leave any time soon.”

“Stuck together forever,” John agreed. 

And maybe reincarnation was there for a reason, because everything seemed to be getting better. She was alive, he was alive, and they were friends, the closest they had ever been.

Time had passed, but change wasn’t a bad thing.


End file.
